My mother was a belle of the South,
Her grace and beauty surpassed only by her loving spirit.
Her curly black hair French-rolled to perfection.
Her gifts were many, cooking was not one.
She could unexpectedly look down in grass and find a lucky clover.
She could cure ailments with a verse from the mighty King James.
She sang sweet soprano as doves cooed along.
When my mother laughed, angels journeyed from on high.
When my mother laughed, demons forgot their mischief.
When my mother laughed, hearts were uplifted.
When my mother laughed, my world was perfect.